The Space Between
by maritera
Summary: "When it came down to it, her heart was broken. Her vanity was bruised. Their friendship was damaged, and she didn't have a clue how to fix it…Or if she even wanted to."
1. The Principle of the Matter

The first bit of business Hermione Granger set to work on upon returning home for holiday was to set her loo in order. After excusing herself from tea with her mum and promising to nab her trunk later, she scampered up the stairs with as much dignity as she could muster. She fought the irritating urge to detour to her bedroom, where, not for the first time, she wished to simply bury her head in the pillows and have a good cry. For now, she was on a mission.

Her feet carried her briskly past the door that was still, after all of these years, decorated with eight ornate wooden letters spelling out her obscure and unusual name. Each tiny letter was a kind reminder that some things never change.

Once in her small bathroom, Hermione mutely flicked her wand in the general direction of the door, causing it to slam and lock in a matter of seconds. She had never intentionally used magic in her childhood home, nor had she ever planned to, but she was of-age now. She'd be damned if this wasn't her one allowance.

Avoiding looking at herself in the mirror, Hermione yanked all of the cabinet doors open and grabbed up the bin. With clamorous rapidity, she tossed multiple bottles away, her breath increasing in speed with each one. At last, she chucked a final miniature bar of soap into the garbage and whispered a strangled _'Reducto!' _The contents of the bin were obliterated to specks of dust. She shut the door to the medicine cabinet and was momentarily frozen, staring straight into her own morose eyes. There was an ostensible level of frenzy in them, but deep down she knew that look for what it really was—defeat.

Hermione tore her eyes away from her reflection, unsure if she could stand it a moment instead to the can of unrecognizable powder in her hands, she shook her head.

"You've finally gone round the twist, Hermione," she spoke to herself ruefully.

Hugging the bin to her chest like a buoy, she backed into the wall and slid slowly down its tiled surface. She yelped in pain when her bum met resistance in the form of a fairly large jar of bath salts. Hermione let out another painful groan at the sight of the label.

The label read in bold letters:

_MADAME PASITHEA'S BATH CREATIONS_

_Lavender-Scented Bath Salts_

Her expression soured as her eyes flitted past _that _word. Lavender. No longer could Hermione enjoy the intentioned, therapeutic affects of that sweet little purple flower. Relaxation was the furthest thing from her mind when she read those three nasty syllables…

Lav-en-der.

Indeed, whenever she had the misfortune of hearing that name uttered by a certain ginger-headed boy, and whenever the girl bearing that very same name responded with ghastly zeal, "Oh, my Won-Won!", whatever chance for respite Hermione may have had suddenly disappeared into the darkness, a place she had begun to feel more and more drawn to.

"Olfacto mutuus," she murmured with a gentle tap to the lid of the offending jar. Unscrewing the lid, she could smell the much more pungent odor of eucalyptus wafting toward her nostrils. Hermione wished she could excuse her actions by chalking it up to more Charms or Transfiguration practice, but deep down she knew that the scene she was causing had nothing to do with magic.

Hermione crawled over to the tub and turned on the warm tap. She fumbled around in the cabinet beneath the sink, pulling out a bottle of unscented bubbles. She attempted to pour in the perfect proportion, but could hardly keep her hands from shaking. Deciding to hell with it, she vigorously squeezed the bottle and tossed the bath salts in haphazardly.

"You can wallow for today," she again spoke only to herself. "Tomorrow, you'll go downstairs with a bright face and have a lovely breakfast with mum…and dad, who is perhaps the only decent man left in your life." She frowned at that. She knew plenty of decent men in the wizarding world, Weasleys included, save for one stupid boy. One stupid, insensitive Weasley boy.

While thinking this over, Hermione had attempted to remove her shoes as she was standing up. She landed right back on her bum, and briefly wondered if her tailbone even existed anymore.

Frustrated beyond belief, Hermione pointed her wand at herself and muttered an incantation. Her clothes popped off of her body, and with another swish of her wand, they started to neatly fold themselves on the sink. She absent-mindedly considered that such a spell was typically used to get at serious injuries or…well, much more private things. She blushed at that, and a brief wave of nausea washed over her when she speculated that Ron might have picked it up during some inane round of bloke talk. He never had much tolerance for school-work, but his mind was a steel trap for information he deemed interesting or useful…like chess or Quidditch…or every single flavor of Bertie Botts' Every Flavor Beans….or getting in Lavender's knickers?

'_No, no, no,' _she insisted to herself._ 'Stop thinking about him. You are not one of those frivolous girls that….that sobs when she finds the boy she fancies snogging another girl ….and then sends a flock of canaries soaring at his head?' _

"OH, BLOODY HELL!" Hermione shouted in frustration. She immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. '_Where did that come from? I'm the one always chastising him for his language…' _

There was a delicate knock on the door, causing Hermione to jump despite the gentleness of the noise. She turned off the tap, as the bath was nearly overflowing at this point, and climbed in hurriedly. Water and bubbles sloshed everywhere. Another knock, this time accompanied by a worried voice.

"Hermione, darling, are you alright in there?"

Hermione sunk lower into the water, irrationally hoping the bubbles could hide her away.

"Of course, I am," she said in an unsteady tone. "Why wouldn't I be? I'm p-perfectly f-fine."

Hermione could hear her mother's sigh from the other side of the door, and pictured her hands flying to her hips. Like mother, like daughter.

"Sounds like it. How about you open this door?" It was more of a gentle demand than a request.

Hermione picked up her wand, unlocked the door, and sunk lower yet into her cocoon of bubbles. Her mother's brown eyes searched around the small room, noting the open, untidy cabinets and the damp floor.

"Hermione, what on Earth happened in he-" She stopped short when her eyes landed on her daughter huddled up in the bath. Hermione was staring straight-forward, face scrunched in an effort not to cry under her mother's scrutiny.

"I was just l-looking for something..." She cleared her throat; it was betraying her efforts. Her mum came to sit on the brim of the tub, paying no mind to the water, and placed a hand affectionately on her unruly tresses.

"Oh, sweetheart, have you fought with Ron again?" Hermione shut her eyes at the question. Mums always know. Damn clichés.

"Not exactly…" She was still evading her mother's curious glances.

"Not exactly…what happened then?" Jane Granger was biting back a smirk. Teenagers! Hermione had spent too many holidays yammering on about Ronald Weasley. A mum always knows.

"I asked him to the Christmas party," Hermione lamented, as if it were the worst decision she had ever made.

"You did! That's wonderful. I can't see what could be the matter. He must have said yes."

"He did," she said flatly.

A deep wrinkle creased between Jane's eyebrows.

"Are we having the same conversation? Why are you so glum?" Jane asked exasperated.

"Then, he-he snogged Lavender Brown," Hermione exclaimed with a quavering sob. She finally looked pleadingly at her mother.

The wrinkle became deeper.

"Lavender…Lavender," Jane mused aloud. "You know someone named Lavender Brown?" Her face did not withhold the humour she felt at hearing such an outrageous name. Was she a girl or a colour palette?

"Mum, could you stop saying her name?" Hermione responded hysterically. Moisture had begun to form about her eyes.

"For goodness' sake, you act like she's the anti-Christ." Jane was disappointed to see her daughter dissolve into tears. "Oh, oh, dear, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be insensitive. It was only a joke."

"No. I am being absolutely ridiculous. I mean, it's Ron, isn't it? He's my _best friend_. I was silly to try..." A familiar rush of anger came upon Hermione as she realized she had referred to him as her friend in the present tense. What a friend, indeed…

Jane felt the shift in Hermione's mood and realized she could go about this one of two ways. Hermione had inherited her father's temperament after all. If Jane confronted her about the issue straight away, Hermione was likely to confess the entire thing in a rush of syllables, but even more likely to descend into a stubborn silence. On the other hand, if Jane were to simply appease her and let the whole thing go, she knew for a fact that her daughter would spend the entire holiday sulking regardless.

She decided to press her luck…

"So, the boy you fancy is snogging another girl. Alas, I do not envy your age."

Hermione's face screwed up in indignation, and it was as if a tangible wall had gone up around her.

"When did I say I fancy Ron? I…It's the principle of the matter! I asked him to accompany me to a dinner party, and he went back on his word," she muttered, red in the face.

"Ah, I see," Jane said in faux understanding. "He snogged this Lav-" -Hermione glared into the bubbles at the slightest mention- "…this _girl_, and told you he wouldn't be going to the party with you?"

Hermione's skin maintained its flush. She cleared her throat uncomfortably.

"No, he didn't. I-I just took somebody else. I couldn't very well go with him. His cow of a girlfriend wouldn't hear of it."

Jane chuckled rather than reprimanding her daughter for her less than tactful name calling.

"We share a dorm...Lavender and I." Hermione pulled a face as if she had just tasted something disgusting. "The entire tower would be abuzz with gossip, even worse than it already is." Her mother's eyebrows shot straight up, and she made a tutting noise with her tongue.

"_That's_ who he's snogging! Ah, I remember Lavender now. Oh, my. It's worse than I thought."

Hermione remained tight-lipped, and after a stretch of silence, Jane decided a slight change in the direction of the conversation might help…

"Isn't Harry in that club with you? Did you go with him instead?"

Hermione picked up a handful of bubbles and inspected them closely.

"No. I mean, he is, but I somehow overlooked that solution. I wish I hadn't. At least I could have gone with a friend." She realized that this statement contradicted her earlier assertion that she had asked _Ron_ only as a friend, and quickly added, "It would have been just as well as if I had gone with Ron."

"Who is this boy then?" Jane asked with great interest. Hermione had hardly mentioned any of her male peers aside from Ron and Harry. Jane had realized some time ago that her daughter was far more interested in her studies than boys.

"He's a seventh year... and possibly one of the most arrogant, insufferable prats I have ever had the displeasure of knowing," said Hermione with a frown.

"I was certain you would have given that title to Ronald," Jane attempted.

When Hermione's only response was to sink lower into the tub, Jane decided the time for light-hearted jibes was over. She moved to kneel on the ground beside the tub and face her sullen daughter.

"Hermione," Jane started, lifting Hermione's chin gently, "I know you're furious with him right now, and you have every right to be, but these things take time. You're both growing up. The unfortunate truth is that it just takes boys a bit longer to get the picture."

"Oh, what a stupid excuse! Like boys have a monopoly on being idiots! He knows _exactly _what he's doing. Besides, he's at perfect liberty to kiss whoever he likes. I don't care that he wants to make a fool of himself all over the school grounds, stuck like a suction cup to that daft girl's face. It's the _principle_ of the matter, Mum. If he cared at all about me, he wouldn't have agreed to be my date, treated me dreadfully the entire week leading up to the thing, and then run off with Lavender on some whim. If dating some twit is more important than being my friend, then... "

Her breath hitched only for a moment before she looked ready to continue with her rant. But she stopped when she saw the knowing look on her mother's face.

"Please, don't look at me like that."

"I'm not sure what look you're referring to," Jane replied softly. "It sounds a bit like he got cold feet."

Hermione scoffed.

"What was there to be nervous about?" she asked rather uncertainly.

She knew precisely what there was to be nervous about because she was nervous about the very same thing. What if this changed their friendship...what if it changed everything?

"I didn't ask him to elope with me..." Hermione continued. "Anyway, it doesn't matter now. He didn't even bother to apologize. We haven't spoken in weeks, and I certainly won't be the first to break the silence."

"My dear Hermione, I don't know what is more appalling...your stubborn head or your stubborn heart." Jane felt the water in the tub quickly, and rose to her feet. "Don't stay in too long. The water is already tepid. Don't need you catching your death first night home."

Hermione allowed an amused look to cross her features at the irony of her mother's choice of words. She had come much closer to death than Jane would ever know; a bit of a cough was the least of her worries.

She sat in the tub until the water ran cold, thinking about her friendship with Ron. She continued to think about it while she toweled herself off and got ready for bed. And her mind was still running wild even as she lay there in bed some time later, wide awake yet completely knackered

Now her mother's words were battling for her attention. She had to admit to herself that she was quite stubborn. She relied on the walls she had constructed around her heart, the restraint she placed on her emotions. This was the precise reason why she had let her guard down, and what a spectacular failure that had been! After enduring the past year together, with everything that had happened at the Ministry, Hermione had seen an open door and grabbed onto the possibility that this... _thing_ growing between them could develop into a real relationship. She had thought that perhaps with a bit of encouragement...

Ron had all but slammed the door in her face. She should have seen it coming, Ron's relationship with Lavender. Well, Ron with anybody, really. She had become so caught up in her feelings for him that she had failed to consider that other girls had every right to develop feelings for him as well. At the very least, they'd start to find him attractive. Seeing Ron find a girlfriend would have been heartbreaking enough, but the reality of the situation was maddening. Not only had Ron chosen someone else, it appeared he had chosen someone else _over_ her. To add insult to injury, he had chosen the absolute anti-thesis of everything Hermione stood for.

When it came down to it, her heart was broken. Her vanity was bruised. Their friendship was damaged, and she didn't have a clue how to fix it…

Or if she even wanted to.


	2. What WildEyed Beast, You Be?

Ronald Weasley had spent the better part of his first real day of Christmas holiday hiding in his father's shed, tinkering with the various Muggle "artifacts" his dad had pilfered from the Ministry over the years. Ron realized that he could very well be in here for days and still find something new and unusual to examine. Not that he was really putting much thought into any of them. He didn't have the same interest in all of this Muggle tecknigology that his father did.

There were some items of interest. He was particularly intrigued (and terrified) by something called "Battleship". After pressing several of the little buttons, there was a sudden, loud explosion, and a man's voice exclaimed that his battleship had been sunk. Ron didn't understand if the strangely shaped box was some sort of wireless, but he decided not to press any more buttons. He didn't want to be held responsible for any explosions. From then on, he stuck to tossing a small green ball against the only tiny expanse of bare wall left in the shed.

Ron chalked his behavior up to boredom. Harry was increasingly obsessed with the Prince's book, and even more convinced that he should inform the Order that Malfoy was indeed the newest junior Death Eater. Unfortunately, Harry had no real proof. In Ron's mind, Draco had always been a tosser, but there were squids with more backbone than Malfoy. It just didn't make any sense for You-Know-Who to count him in as one of his elite henchmen.

Ron would never tell Harry that, of course, not without Hermione to back him up, and she certainly wasn't going to be popping in anytime soon.

Hermione…

At first, Ron had resented her absence. Why did she have to get her knickers all in a twist? _He _hadn't hidden anything from _her_…

His blood simmered just thinking about what had started all this. Ginny's outburst had sent his mind reeling, and it was all he could do to pick up the pieces of grey matter he felt spill about the corridor. That night Ron had stayed awake in his dorm bed until the sun rose.

Nothing made sense.

Hermione had snogged Victor Krum. Victor Krum's ruddy Bulgarian lips had touched hers…and Merlin knows what else he'd touched! Hermione had insisted that he was just her friend. Her pen-pal, she had said…Ron realized what an idiot he had been to believe such an underhanded tale. Come to think of it, maybe she had lied about her summer holiday, too. Maybe she _had_ gone to Bulgaria. Maybe Vicky had taken her flying on his brand new, posh broomstick and they had snogged over and over again. He felt a familiar beast awaken inside of him.

_'Bloody Ginny! Why couldn't she have kept her bloody mouth shut?' _

Ron hurled the ball in aggression, causing it to bounce into several heaps of bolts piled on a nearby table. With a dismal little sigh, he began picking them up one by one.

_'I shouldn't even be upset. I'm with Lavender now.' _

Ron winced at the thought. Having a girlfriend wasn't all Butterbeer and daisies as he had expected. Sure, being kissed by someone other than his foul Auntie Muriel and his mum—and in a thoroughly different way at that—was brilliant. But Lavender barely allowed him a breath between their snogging sessions, and when their lips weren't hermetically sealed together, he discovered an uncomfortable truth.

Lavender didn't really fancy _him_.

She liked that he was a Quidditch player (and as it had turned out, a fairly decent one). She was also quite pleased that Ron was related to the twins from whom she ordered a plethora of beauty products off of their new _Witches Wear_ line. Neither of these particulars bothered Ron much. He was used to people admiring his brothers and had grown out of the jealousy he once harbored toward them. Well, mostly.

Ron also resolved that there was nothing terribly wrong with winning a girl over with Quidditch. After all, he had only gathered the courage to show up for Quidditch trials last year partly to impress…a girl….but that didn't matter anymore. Lavender appreciated that Ron was Gryffindor's star Keeper, at present. He was sure that soon enough he'd find a way to botch that up, and she'd chuck him.

He wouldn't mind much if that was all there was to worry about. The one thing Ron had yet to accept about the whole thing was his deepest insecurity as well. As much as Lavender loved the attention she got for dating "Fred and George's little brother", or Ronald Weasley the Quidditch player, she reveled in the fact that her "WonWon" was The Chosen One's best friend.

When he thought about it, Lavender asked Ron about what he and Harry got up to on their "little adventures" more often than she asked him about himself. She didn't even know how many siblings he had. _Everyone_ knew how many siblings he had.

The creaking of the door shocked him back into reality, and the bolts went flying again.  
Standing in the doorway was the absolute last person Ron wanted to see. As a matter of fact, he would rather face a pack of wild hippogriffs than stand the scrutiny of the one person who was possibly just as incensed with him as Hermione was.

"Watch it! You almost took my eye out!" Ginny crossed her arms over her chest, making it clear that she had no intention of helping him clean up the mess.

"You're the one who snuck up on me," replied Ron, already red in the face. "What do you want?"

"Mum forced me to come looking for you. She wants you to gather wood for the fire." For a split second, Ginny looked as if she was going to make for the door. Instead she peered at him curiously. "What are you doing lurking about in here anyhow? I'm surprised you aren't inside writing love letters to Lav Lav."

Ron shot to his feet and balled up his fists.

"I-I'm not lurking. And I don't write love letters!"

"Oi! No need to be so defensive," Ginny snapped back. "I can't imagine what you would even talk about. I haven't seen you doing much talking in the last several weeks…"

"Oh, that's really bloody rich coming from you. What do you write to Dean about? Which secret corridor you can snog in next?" Ron spat with scorn. His eyes went cold with anger.

Ginny slammed the door to the shed, and strode up to her brother until there were mere centimetres between them. Ron instinctively retreated a few steps, but held his defensive posture. He glared as menacingly as possible down at Ginny.

"I'm sorry if I don't find it particularly appropriate to force my tongue down someone's throat in the middle of the dining hall!" she shouted loudly enough for everyone in the house to hear.

"No, you just creep about in the shadows. What's the matter, Ginny? Are you ashamed of Dean?" he asked nastily.

Ginny's face fell and tears were brimming about her eyelids. Turning her head away for a moment, she gathered herself. Ron blinked rapidly, his guilt overpowering any resentment he was feeling.

"I have no reason to be ashamed of Dean. If anything, you're the one who should be hanging your head in humiliation. Lavender Brown? Honestly, Ron?"

Ron let out a little scoff of indignation despite the mixed emotions sweeping through him. Ginny simply shook her head in disbelief.

"D'you think you're some big man now that you've snogged someone? You know, at least I have the decency to consider other people's feelings," said Ginny as she turned on her heel and stormed back to the house.

Ron was frozen to the spot. He ran a hand unconsciously under his jumper to touch the tiny trail of red scratches freckling his arm. A cold gust of air wafted in from the doorway, blowing random bits of hair into Ron's eyes. He shook them away, hoping to shake the thoughts from his head as well.

He quickly gathered up the remaining bolts and headed into the frigid dusk. He never understood why he was always the one sent out to do such tedious tasks when he couldn't even properly do magic yet. If Hermione were here, she could easily cast a spell to chop the wood into flawless, uniform logs. He would insist on carrying them all in, of course. She would stubbornly assert that she help, since his gesture would _obviously_ be some sort of subconscious sexist ideology that women shouldn't perform manual labor….

'_Blimey, I'm starting to imagine rowing with her! Funny, the things you miss…I'm going mad.'_

Ron hated that even while he set about gathering spare bits of wood, Hermione still ran through his mind. She was like a constant drum, beating ever presently in his thoughts.

By now, Ron knew what this fixation meant, but he had conceded defeat. Hermione wasn't the kind of girl that ended up with the likes of blokes like him. She would end up with a chap like Harry. Hell, part of him still believed Harry himself would win her in the end.

They would sit their N.E.. Hermione would pass everything with flying colours, and Harry would finally and miraculously annihilate You-Know-Who. Ron, as expected, would squeak by with a few Acceptables and try not to get murdered while blindly following Harry into whatever hairy situation (no pun intended…on second thought, pun completely intended) his best mate got into next.

The Savior of the Universe and the Brightest Witch of The Age would be offered whatever position they wanted at the Ministry, they'd realise how perfect they were together, and fall in love. They'd have a handsome brood of genius children and ride off into the sodding sunset together. Ron would still be living at The Burrow, working at his brothers' shop and receiving the occasional post from Harry and Hermione about their absolutely blissful life together. The end.

When he finally stalked into the house with a stack of kindling practically to the ceiling, Ron had worked himself into a right strop. At this rate, his entire holiday was going to be ruined if he kept at these thoughts.

'_Stop thinking about her! Think about….about Mum's Christmas biscuits._'

Instinctively, his stomach emitted a loud, rolling rumble. Ron figured he might as well nab a few on his way through the kitchen. He noticed his mum was nowhere in sight. Strangely enough, no one was. Shrugging to himself, he maneuvered the wood so that he could free one hand long enough to thrust several biscuits between his lips.

Ron juggled the firewood the rest of the way to the sitting room, where he was surprised to find his missing family members, including Fred and George. The men were dressed in their cloaks, appearing ready to use the Floo. His mum looked anxiety-ridden, and was fervently trying to convince his dad about something or the other. If Ron had learned anything from being friends with Harry, he had learned to pick up on when something was the matter. Setting down his load promptly, he addressed his brothers.

"Whas gon' 'n?" Ron asked through a mouthful of biscuits, causing crumbs to spill all down the front of his jumper.

"Ace move, Ronniekins," George quipped. "What's taken you so long?"

"Yeah, we about left without you. Mum is off her trolley. She's having a go at Dad about us coming along. She must have forgotten all of those O. we were suffered to pass," Fred said in quiet exasperation, rolling his eyes for emphasis.

"Left without me? Where are you going? It's Christmas Eve!" Ron looked around in general confusion. Where was Harry?

"If Ron didn't have his head so far up his arse, he would know what you're talking about..."

Behind the twins, Ginny sat, tugging on her hair with unease similar to their mother's.

"Ginevra, language!" Molly scolded her youngest child perfunctorily, still putting all of her energy into fretting. She returned her attention to her husband. "Arthur, perhaps I should come along, then? I can speak to Jane, ensure that she understands Hermione will be in better hands here."

Ron's head turned so quickly toward his mother he thought it might unhinge from his neck.

"Hermione? What about Hermione? Will someone tell me what's going on!" he exclaimed in frustration.

"Oh, Ron, do keep your voice down. Harry mustn't hear. I thought you might still be out in the yard," Molly said soothingly.

Arthur took a few steps toward his son and rested a warm hand on Ron's shoulder. He was trying to reassure him with this gesture, but Arthur's face was an unconvincing contrast.

"Son, the Order informed us tonight of rumours that Death Eaters have planned a series of attacks on Muggleborn homes in the coming days. The rumours have yet to be unfounded, and we can't take any chances," he sighed deeply. "Our best bet is to relocate families to safe houses with magical protection or, at the very least, another relative's home."

Ron gaped at him with an expression of disgust and disbelief.

"They-they were waiting to do this so the students would be away from Hogwarts…with their families."

Arthur nodded grimly and patted Ron gently on the cheek. "Not to worry. We're headed over there straight-away. I want you and Harry to stay right here with your Mum and Ginny. There's no telling if You-Know-Who's lot will make any attempts tonight."

As his father turned toward Molly once again to set her mind at rest, Ron scrunched up his brow and took heaving breathes.

"No," Ron said firmly, making himself a wall between his father and the fireplace. They all looked at him startled.

"Ronald," Molly started cautiously, "what the Heavens are you doing?"

Ginny turned on him, astonished.

"I know you've had row with her, Ron, but her family is in danger! Don't be such a selfish twat!" she gesticulated wildly with her hands. "Yeah, yeah…I know! Language!"

Ron faltered, blinking rapidly and glowing an upsetting shade of crimson. He was overcome with shame that his sister would think so lowly of him. Had he really been acting like that much of a wanker?

"Of course that's not what I meant!" Ron straightened his back, pushing out his upper body. "I-I'm coming with. I don't care if I have to Apparate over there behind you!"

"You will do no such thing, young man!" Molly barked at him severely. "Arthur, tell him."

Arthur's eyes volleyed from his wife's stern face to his son's desperate but stanch expression. He struggled to answer until Ron spoke up again.

"Dad, I know the risks. I won't get in your way. I just need to be sure she's alright. And I know Hermione; she won't leave her parents unless she's absolutely convinced they're out of harm's way. She'll need a friend to persuade her."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Ginny scoffed.

"Then, I should go. She'll likely hex you on the spot," she remarked glibly.

Ron had enough. He rounded on his sister yet again.

"Stuff it, Ginny. She can set the canaries on me again! I don't care! I have to make sure she's alright."

"Canaries?" George questioned. "She set canaries on you? That's a new one."

"Nice touch," Fred agreed.

"ENOUGH!" Molly's reproach silenced them all at once. "You aren't going anywhere, Ginny. If you would like to help, go distract Harry, please."

Fred and George snickered.

"That'll be a tough one…" Fred muttered beneath his breath.

"_You two_," Molly emphasized with a tug on each of their cloaks, "will watch after Ron and Hermione. Bring each of them back here by Side-Along Apparition as soon as everything has been sorted."

Ron perked up.

"Does this mean I can go?" he asked hopefully.

Molly and Arthur exchanged a silent, knowing glance. She gave him a curt nod.

"Yes, but you must stay with Fred and George at all times. No running off, no matter what happens," his father commanded firmly.

Ron gave his promise and watched as his father tossed powder into the hearth of the now accommodating fireplace.

"So, Ron and Hermione have a big blow out? You must tell us all the gory details when we get back…" Fred was directing his question at Ginny like Ron wasn't dead in front of him.

Ron shot lasers at Fred while heading into the enlarged fireplace himself. As he shouted his destination, he could have sworn he made out his mother chiming in with words that sounded suspiciously like "young love".

A/N: Thank you for the reviews! Sorry for the long wait for Chapter 2. The next two chapters will be up rapid-fire, I promise.

I must admit, I started writing this fic after listening to the song "The Space Between" by Dave Matthews Band. Each chapter will be inspired from different lines, and most likely the chapter title will give which one away. (So original of me, right?)

I very much meant to put this on the first chapter...Much appreciation to my brilliant beta, TMBlue. If you haven't read her stories yet, you're missing out on some of 's gems! Thank you for encouraging me to do this. :)


	3. The Safest Arrangement

Hermione paced in front of the fireplace like a rabid dog. Kingsley had owled her in advance, informing her and her parents of the possibility of an attack within the coming days. Her parents were shocked, to say the least. Hermione had done her best to hide the reality of the impending War from her parents. Past scars were easy enough to cover up.

Luckily her parents treated her no differently than if she had been going away to a Muggle boarding school. They inquired about her friends and her marks, but shied away from specifics when it came to magic, although not because they were ashamed or frightened by their only daughter's abilities.

They were quite pragmatic people, but she _was_ their only daughter. If they had known the truth about what had happened in the Wizarding World over the last 5 years (not to mention how involved she had been in it all), Alastair and Jane Granger would have locked her away long ago.

Hermione made a great effort to persuade them to ring her grandparents in Merseyside so they could continue the rest of their holiday far away from Chelsea. She knew the extensive debate with her parents about returning to Hogwarts would be delayed if not forgotten as long as they stayed there. Mim and Pip did not know she was a witch. They didn't know much about her at all. Jean had limited contact with them since Hermione was a young girl for valid, if not regrettable, reasons.

When Hermione was seven years old, her dreadful cousin Ophelia (her mother's family was nutty for Shakespeare) had chucked Hermione's Madeline doll in the large fountain in her grandparent's garden. As if by magic, which Hermione later learned was precisely what it was, her cousin was suddenly sputtering in the fountain next to her beloved doll.

Her grandmother, who had only turned the corner in time to see Ophelia splashing around in the fountain, dragged Hermione into the sitting room by the ear, followed by a dripping Ophelia who was not at all shy about throwing accusations her way.

Mim had demanded an explanation at once, using the nickname Hermione had always loathed.

"Minnie, why did you push your cousin into the water? You've ruined her dress."

"My name is Hermione, not Minnie! And I did not push her in! She ended up there on her own!" Hermione cried out in a mixture of anguish and defiance.

"Do not lie to your grandmother. You expect me to believe she went for a quick dip?" her grandmother questioned sternly.

"Maybe! I didn't do anything wrong._ She's_ the one who threw my doll into the water. Why isn't she being punished?"

Hermione snapped her mouth shut. She knew better than to speak rudely to her elders. She couldn't help it, though. Ophelia had always teased her for her unkempt hair and rather sizeable front teeth, but this time she had gone too far. Madeline was the closest thing Hermione had to a friend, and that nasty imp had submersed her in water!

Her austere grandmother did not take kindly to her backtalk, and put Hermione over her knee.

"Your mother doesn't see the benefit of spanking. It's clear that you need discipline, and I will not hesitate to do so."

Tears were already streaming down Hermione's face, and she squeezed her eyes shut as her grandmother brought her hand down on her rear-end. When her palm went to make contact a second time, the lights flickered with little notice by Mim. On the fourth strike, however, all of the light bulbs in the room abruptly burst. Her grandmother froze at once out of terror.

Hermione winced.

Things like this had happened before at home, but never at a relative's. Her mother was going to be furious with her!

"I didn't mean to do it!" she shouted in panic.

Jane had heard the commotion and came to investigate. Seeing Hermione still placed over the knee of her grandmother, Jane gasped and rushed over to pluck her daughter up in her arms.

"What in God's name are you doing, mother?" Jane questioned in horror.

Ophelia piped in instead.

"Hermione pushed me in the water, and then she made all of the bulbs explode! I saw it! She did it with her mind!" The little girl screeched with a crazed look on her face.

Jane's mother still looked as if she had seen a ghost. Hermione tried her best to burrow her face in her mother's shoulder and not be seen. She was hysterically mumbling apologies over and over again. Jane's breathing hitched when she saw the broken glass scattered around the room.

She wished she could say Ophelia's allegation was absurd, but this wasn't the first of unexplainable and bizarre incidents involving her daughter, and she was certain it wouldn't be the last.

"She-she's not normal. The lamps…I was j-just trying to teach her some m-manners…" Hermione's grandmother stuttered.

This made Hermione sob with even more ferocity. Jane's heart broke for the pain and confusion her daughter was feeling, as she was no stranger to it herself. She didn't know why sometimes things shattered when Hermione was severely upset. She was even more perplexed as to how the neighbour's dog ended up at the foot of Hermione's bed every night, even when Alastair had stayed up until dawn once to see if she was sneaking into the yard to let him in. Hermione had been sound asleep all night, yet the dog had appeared magically, curled up at her feet at sunrise.

Jane couldn't very well explain it, but she refused to let anyone—even her own mother—tell her that Hermione was an aberration.

Since that day, Hermione's interaction with her mum's parents had been limited to polite, enigmatic greeting cards on most major holidays. She knew sometimes her mum would sit by the phone with an old family photograph in her lap, struggling with the desire to phone her grandmother and explain what had happened that day. But who would believe it?

Hermione was shaken out of her reverie by Crookshanks pawing at her legs, as if imploring her to settle down. She swooped up the Kneazle in her arms and stood in front of the mantle to gaze at childhood photos.

She regarded one photograph in particular; despite being taken with a Muggle camera, it was her favorite. Her father had snapped the picture at King's Cross before Hermione would set off on the first of many magical train rides. Alastair was beaming with pride, and Jane was attempting to wipe away tears that had fallen to her cheeks while she looked down at her daughter. Hermione, already in her Hogwarts uniform, was smashed between the two of them, an eager look on her face.

When had things changed so drastically?

The little girl in the photograph had little more to worry about than whether she would finally fit in. Fast forward six years, and she was hardly a little girl…yet somehow not old enough to handle her present situation. Hermione knew the stigma that came with being a Muggleborn…the risk that came with being friends with Harry…but this was too much too soon.

The awful possibility that, if the Deatheaters _did_ attack tonight, her home might be gutted until there was nothing left…

Hermione seized the picture from its frame, folded it carefully, and tucked it into her back pocket.

She resumed her pacing.

Alastair entered the room without notice.

"Your mother and I are all packed," he said, clearing his throat to get Hermione's attention.

Hermione turned toward him, startled.

"Oh…yes. Very well. Someone from the Order should be around any moment…" she trailed off, vexed by her father's piqued demeanor. "Dad…I-I'm sorry…"

"What are you apologizing for?" he asked impatiently. "The letter from those Ministry fellows said our hurried departure is necessary, so I trust that it is. I just don't understand why you didn't tell us about the state of things sooner."

Hermione, who looked on the verge of tears, bit her lip in response. Her father's voice was laced with disappointment, and she was at a loss as how to respond.

With great fortune, Arthur Weasley had chosen this precise moment to appear in their hearth, which had instantaneously tripled in size. He extended his dusty hand toward Alistair as he exited, appearing very serious indeed.

"Alistair, I wish we could be visiting under more pleasant circumstances," Arthur said soberly. "Is Jane nearby? I was hoping to speak with you separate from the children…"

Hermione's head tilted toward Arthur's weary face.

"Children?" she inquired frankly, shuffling several steps away from the fireplace. '_Does that mean Ron is coming along?' she thought frantically._

Arthur twisted around to look at Hermione, as if seeing her for the first time.

"Hermione! My dear, I didn't mean anything by it…I suppose I'll always see all of you as children, no matter how old you get…" Arthur recanted distractedly, and patted her gently on the back.

"Oh! I didn't mean it like that…I meant to say, who is it you're bringing with you?" Hermione asked with discomfit.

"Ah, yes. The boys should be coming along any minute! Now, if you'll excuse me, I must talk to your parents about the wards I'll be setting up around your grandparents' house."

With a meek smile, Mr. Weasley followed Mr. Granger into the kitchen, leaving Hermione impossibly more flustered.

'_Boys? __**WHICH**__ boys?' _

Troubled that Ron could be coming out of the grate the next instant, she lifted Crookshanks up once again.

'_Oh, yes. Fantastic thinking, Hermione,' she thought to herself drolly, 'What are you going to do, fling the cat at him?' _

She only had a few seconds to entertain the thought before George and Fred came striding out of the fireplace with large grins plastered to their identical faces. Hermione experienced a strange sense of disappointment coupled with relief.

"I see your Dad meant to say twins rather than boys! I'm so glad to see _you_ two," Hermione exclaimed a little too enthusiastically.

Fred's eyebrows shot upwards, and he smirked.

"Tired of Ron already? He cannot have been here more than a couple of minutes."

"I don't know. It only takes me about thirty seconds to get sick of his mawkish face lately," George jested in reply.

The twins looked around the room, waiting for their little brother's shirty reply. Much to their alarm, Hermione was the only one in the room.

"Where's Ron? Have you killed him already? Please, tell me you've murdered him and stuffed his bits somewhere, otherwise Mum is going to hack _us_ into pieces," George cried in mock distress.

Hermione grunted in disgust. After setting Crookshanks on the ground, she immediately placed her hands on her hips in a defensive stance.

"_No_, I've not killed him," she said pointedly. "He isn't here. I suppose you were in charge of bringing him."

Hermione turned away, and rummaged uselessly through her trunk just to avoid further teasing.

"It's just as well. I don't see any reason for him to come. _I_ certainly don't want him here," finished Hermione.

"Got off at the wrong grate," a grave voice rumbled from behind.

Hermione heard the twins make a decent attempt to snicker softly. Mortified, she turned bit by bit to confirm who the voice belonged to. He stood there, brushing the ash out of his ginger hair, a surly glower on his face that she was quite used to by now.

Hermione's stomach clenched at his actions, which, in spite of every last bit of sensibility she armored herself with, always made something in her buzz excitedly.

'_Stop looking at his hair! What's so attractive about that…soft…auburn….AGH! Say something!' _she thought wildly to herself.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

The words flew out of her mouth severely. Ron narrowed his eyes in response.

"Dad asked me to come," he lied.

Fred was ready to call Ron on his lie when George gave him a quick elbowing. Placing a finger to his lips, he gestured toward the two of them.

"This could be good," he whispered in Fred's ear.

Hermione's shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly.

"Right….of course."

'_Of course. He wouldn't come unless he was forced to…' she thought bitterly. _

Ron stalked to the far wall, leaned against it, and stood silently in the shadows. Fred and George exchanged disappointed glances.

"Well… not to break up the party, but I think we should find the real adults and sort out the logistics and all that rubbish," Fred voiced.

They all followed Hermione into the kitchen, where the Grangers were looking rather faint.

"…Hermione will need to stay with us. Our connections in the Auror Department have implied that the Ministry might have put some kind of magical trace on Muggleborns. There's talk that the trace was placed when students went through so-called security checks when they exited at the Leaky Cauldron for holiday. Although, it's likely none of them remember. I believe they may have been Confunded," Arthur explained, oblivious to the confusion plain on the faces' of Jane and Alastair, and the shock appearing on Ron and Hermione's.

"Confunded? Aurors?" Alastair asked rather crossly. "Pardon my ignorance, Arthur, but you need to remember we do not live in your world. Our daughter finds it unnecessary to make us privy to it, so I'm finding that it's rather difficult understanding any of this rubbish."

"Alastair!" Jane rebuked.

Hermione flushed, head lowered and hands twisting around each other anxiously.

"No, Mum. He's right," said Hermione. "I-I should have told you sooner. I-I j-just didn't want you to k-keep me from return-returning."

Her voice shook erratically, and tears threatened to rain down her cheeks.

Ron fought to maintain his distance.

'_What would you even do, mate? Pat her on the back?' _he questioned himself woefully.

Alastair did not look at his daughter as she spoke, instead seemingly studying his cup of tea. Jane looked firmly at him, perhaps waiting for him to reassure her. Her gaze snapped to Arthur, who looked properly embarrassed and unsure of how to continue.

"Whatever is safest, Arthur. I'm sure you know best how to handle this situation, and I know she's in good hands with your family," Jane spoke, attempting a genuinely gracious smile. "Right, Alistair?"

Her husband's head whipped up in surprise. He looked ready to object but was quelled by the fierce resolve in his wife's expression.

"Right…right," he said, clearing his throat. "Forgive me. I hope you understand I've simply been…caught off guard by this situation."

"Of course! I am, after all, first and foremost, a father," Arthur replied humbly. "I understand your worries. Let me assure you that this is the most secure situation for all involved. You and your wife will be safe in hiding, and Hermione will be under the care of a number of skilled wizards and witches."

Alastair nodded as he stood.

"Who will be protecting my grandparents' home," questioned Hermione, clearly not prepared to accept the arrangement quite yet.

"A few members of the Order will be checking in every so often. I can personally drop by whenever you'd like me to," Arthur answered kindly.

Ron watched Hermione bite her lip in consternation. Some organ in the general area of his chest throbbed so unbearably he had to look away. Without thinking, words fell out of his mouth.

"I can help."

Everyone looked at him with amused expressions, save for Alastair and Hermione whom regarded Ron with a suspicious glare.

"Erm, I mean…I know I can't stand guard or anything…but if you needed someone to carry messages…or packages…" His ears were burning so hotly, he imagined they would melt away any moment now.

Had he just suggested he act as Hermione's owl?

"That's very sweet of you, Ron. I'm sure that won't be necessary," Jane spoke through a puckish smile.

Fred was gripping his twins shoulder in an attempt to suppress the laughter trapped behind his tightly closed lips.

Alastair broke the tension with the unasked question.

"How will we be traveling?"

"Actually, I thought the least suspicious means would be for us to travel by car. Ron and Hermione can return with Fred and George. We should leave as soon as possible," Arthur informed them, once again serious.

With that, the Grangers loaded their small car with their bags. Hermione watched, face awash with concern. Jane approached her daughter with an air of compusure.

"Don't worry, darling. I'm sure this will all come to pass in a matter of days. Enjoy the holiday with your friends," Jane said to her gently.

Hermione threw her arms around her mother, squeezing as if for the last time.

"I love you, Mum," was all she could say, silent tears blurring her senses.

Her dad, who she had not seen come up behind her, rested a hand on her head for a moment before embracing both of them. Hermione brought one arm around his back, and whispered the same words.

"Happy Christmas, Chipmunk."

Hermione let out a sound that was something between a laugh and a groan. She decided that she didn't particularly care if the twins would tease her about this later, and beamed at her father's affectionate use of an old nickname.

"Happy Christmas, Dad," Hermione sniffed into her father's chest.

The Grangers entered their automobile; Arthur marveling slightly at the size of it. Arthur stuck his head out of the window, warning the twins not to make any stops but to head straight to the Burrow.

And with a little wave, they were gone.

A/N: Oh, readers. If you're still out there, I apologize a trillion times for my neglect of this story. Alas, it is 4 AM where I am at, and I've spent this early morning at a 24-hour diner, drinking copious amounts of coffee and fixing up this chapter. I was concerned about so many decisions I made in this chapter, particularly the following: the location of the Granger's house, the reason Hermione needed to stay at the Burrow, and how to get Ron and Hermione alone. Comments will be much appreciated (if only to reassure me that my decisions weren't half-baked)! I also couldn't resist doing a little Hermione back-story. I read a great essay over at Mugglenet that complained about the female characters in Harry Potter not having their histories explored in comparison to the mini-biographies of a majority of the main male characters. I agree, whole-heartedly. Maybe I'm just spending too much time with my feminist roommate…WHO KNOWS. Anyhow, chapter four to come later this week! –xoxo, maritera


End file.
